


how to relish the feeling of building a hut, in the middle of the suffocating dust

by losebetter



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Experimental Style, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losebetter/pseuds/losebetter
Summary: “who do you love? you were driving toward something and then, well. then you found yourself driving the other way.”
--a messy postgame fairy tale in ten parts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this piece is exceptionally strange and 100% experimental in nature. i had planned to keep it [on tumblr](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/post/151145877736/postgame-rook-canon-headcanons-that-were-supposed), where these types of bulleted lists are more commonplace, but, well. that was before it became almost 4,000 words of truly bizarre experimental poetry. i thought about it and realized i couldn't think of anything this would gain by being in a more traditional format, so i am presenting it as-is! we'll see how we go. (and yes, there's some more siken in here. guilty! full credits are in the end notes.) this contains spoilers for the main plot of _fallout 4_ , the railroad ending in particular.
> 
> thank you dearly to the friends of mine who gave this a chance - and to you, too, if you do!!
> 
> if you're unfamiliar with rook, he has a tag on my blog [here](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/tagged/ss%3A-rook) and looks something like [this](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/post/150061166061/kaukomieli-said-how-aboooout-a2-for-rook-and-c6)!

**i.**

  * the institute explosion is heavy, too much to process all at once. rook is still queasy from the transport, leather jacket still stained with the blood of his only son. there’s a delay, after, before the force of the winds finally hits them, whips his frayed bun behind him, nora’s scarf steady on his arm. he stares forward, far longer than is good for him, until - _woah_  - and he turns. maccready had almost lost his hat, but he’s crouched there with it in his hands, looking wary and exhausted, burns on his skin and clothing from the firefight, but undeniably proud.
  * (“ _who do you love? you were driving toward something and then, well. then you found yourself driving the other way._ ”) 
  * the confirmation should feel traumatic, rook slamming the door on his faraway dreams about “cheating time,” “putting his family back together again” and the railroad salting the earth behind him. it should shake him, he should feel like screaming. and he does - but he is not lost, either, not like he had been, not like he would’ve been. he’s outlived his child - but he is the only one.
  * (the toy soldier is no longer in his pocket - he’d nearly forgotten, in his haste for something to make everything feel less like a dream, that he had slipped it into the boy synth’s tiny hand before deacon & tinker tom took him away. he thinks of it, and it leads him to his next step, and the step after. he has a plan. _recover. breathe. start walking again_. _if you can make it twenty-four hours -_ )
  * _remind me not to get on your bad side_ , maccready tells him, cheeky, smiling just a little. it’s soft, because neither of them want to talk about it yet, but they’re still drawn to try, holding each others’ fragile hearts with gentle hands, remembering.



**ii.**

  * _destroy this after you’ve read it_ , desdemona says, and makes the mistake of turning her back on rook to properly start the service for patriot.
  * _it’s only what you deserved_ , rook reads.
  * _you’ll never get a good night’s sleep_ , rook reads, _in what remains of your hopefully short, miserable -_
  * from deacon, on his left, abnormally still: _hey, heartbreaker, you ever hear the one about the super mutant and the boulder?_
  * maccready nudges his right shoulder, indignant. _he got that one from me_ , he complains, and deacon chuckles silently, all comforting shoulder shakes. rook folds up the paper and slips it into his pocket, then slips his free hand through maccready’s beside him.



**iii.**

  * after a lot of thought and with a heavy heart, rook returns dogmeat to mama murphy. he handwaves her insistence that he isn’t her dog - dogmeat is a good boy, and rook trusts him to keep mama murphy on the straight & narrow. he doesn’t regret it, but he gets emotional on the road out of sanctuary, and maccready wraps a snug arm around him as they walk, pretending he isn’t tearing up too. ( _i always liked that dog_ , he says, voice wobbly, and rook snuffles a laugh. _he was there when i needed him most_ , rook agrees, confident, _but someone else needs him more, now_.)



**iv.**

  * of course rook comes back for shaun - there’s no question about that. one burned bridge means almost nothing to a man who knows how to swim, except for the hint that perhaps he will not be alone when he reaches the other side.
  * he strikes rook as strangely quiet, different to any of the kids he remembers taking care of earlier on in his life. he is affectionate, certainly, and curious, and he takes to rook’s presence like a fish to water - but rook doesn’t truly begin to relax until he makes his first friend: preston garvey.
  * only two days into having shaun with him (all of them, really, as he can sense his friends trying to give him space but he can also sense their burning curiosity), rook’s patience runs out. the second evening is peaceful if humid, maccready shirtless in bed beside him with a book open on his chest. ( _treasure island_ , rook thinks, a newer acquisition scavenged from covenant a month or so ago. he doesn’t know anything about it other than how heavy it is, and what maccready deigns to share with him, though so far he’s been too engrossed.)
  * rook presses a kiss to maccready’s sweat-damp temple and slips out of bed with minimum fuss, taking up his pip-boy and the holotape from his desk and swinging out to the roof. he makes himself comfortable and shuts the tape into the device, but his fingers twitch for a cigarette. he tenses them up against the dials and plays the tape.
  * _he has been reprogrammed to believe he is your son._
  * no, no, no -
  * too easy, too easy -
  * _it is my hope that you will take him with you._
  * absolutely not, he should’ve known, he should’ve -
  * _i would ask only that you give him a chance_.
  * the roof is quiet, the air still.
  * when the tape is finished, rook doesn’t play it again. he slips down from the roof, careful to not disturb the window behind maccready’s head and draw his attention, and climbs easily down to the flat top of the red rocket itself.
  * this time of night, valentine is easy to spot - his eyes burn, artificial gold trained on rook as soon as he senses him, even if rook hadn’t known exactly where to look.
  * valentine doesn’t insult him by asking, only waits.
  * _i need help_ , rook whispers. _i need your advice._
  * _how do you know you really want to do something, and that it’s not just something someone… told you to do?_
  * valentine tilts his head. _not that i can’t tell what you’re asking,_  he placates, _but couldn’t i ask you the same thing?_



**v.**

  * the third rail is dank and smoky as always, though anyone who recognizes rook only gives him a nod. by some stroke of luck or kindness, none of them speak to maccready, who rook can feel practically jumping out of his skin behind him. they approach the bar.
  * _easy, charles_ , after a few moments, _i’d hate for anyone to think you actually tolerated me_.
  * _miss cait_ , the robot drawls, disinterested but surprisingly fond, _people will talk._
  * cait’s stopped listening, obviously, hands on her hips. _gents_ , she greets. rook feels a rush of affection for her but tries to turn his grin up to eleven, knowing maccready’s distraction. _something you needed?_
  * _a room for the night, if you got one_ , rook says pleasantly. he bows. cait clips his head, and they both laugh.
  * _‘course. i can even get you the VIP treatment, if you want it._
  * for the first time, maccready looks up. _there’s no bed in there_ , he says automatically.  _and the door doesn’t close._
  * _wasn’t_ , cait says. _didn’t_.
  * rook tries not to smile. maccready sighs, though, and sounds so long-suffering that it surprises a laugh out of him. _hancock, you piece a’ crap.  
  
_
  * maccready doesn’t sleep, so rook stays up with him, keeping close. he remembers the last time they’d done this, in fact, a room at the third rail, a breath out, and maccready’s slightly unhinged laugh, the smallest wobble of his chin before rook had pulled him in against his chest, unable to bear it, unable to not try to help.
  * ( _i don’t understand, i’m - i’m happy_ , maccready had insisted, sounding utterly exasperated with himself between sobs that rook had been able to feel through his skinny back. _i can’t believe it, it, it’s okay, it’s okay_ , and rook had confirmed it against his hair.
  * _take care of maccready, would you?_  daisy had asked him earlier on in the night, and rook had already known, his heart a traitor, that he’d damn well try, might even try a little too hard, ask a little too much. but not then, not when maccready needed his best friend.)
  * this time when rook holds him he’s allowed that affection. they fit together easily now, trust and practice.
  * maccready is quiet for a long time, and then: _i’m scared_. rook is amazed he’d managed anything at all, knows how brave he is and tells him so. they wait out the night.



**vi.**

  * later, but not much, preston garvey makes gentle but purposeful strides through diamond city, and knocks on a door. he adjusts the fit of a basket in his arms, tries to resettle it into the crook of one elbow. the basket makes a noise and he shooshes it gently, using his free hand to reach up and doff his tricorn hat.  
_evening, sir_ , he greets, a winning smile that he’s not even faking, couldn’t be.
  * domesticity suits maccready, apparently, the relaxed, coy little grin something preston hasn’t ever seen before. he jerks his thumb over one slim shoulder and doesn’t bother checking the street outside, disappearing back into the house and letting preston finagle the door closed, the basket still in his arms. _the general’s in the kitchen_ , he offers easily as he ascends a creaky staircase to the second floor, and preston looks ahead of him.
  * rook, of course, looks expectant, had heard him at the door - preston thinks it’s a small space for four people, but he’s not surprised they’ve found a way to make it work. if there’s one thing he could peg maccready and the general having in common, it’s traveling light. (and by this time, well. he knows them well enough.)
  * _to what do i owe the pleasure_ , rook says, smooth like maybe he’s had a nightcap.
  * the basket, despite being bundled with warm bits of blanket inside, mews. preston flounders, but rook moves closer with a few of his lazy steps.
  * _we found her at the rocket_ , he explains, _we couldn’t figure out where the noise was coming from until we checked your old room._  he adjusts his hold on the basket, watches rook pluck a corner of the blanket with practiced fingers and hears the soft cluck of his tongue when a furry grey head emerges, certainly no wider than the lengths of two of his fingers. rook knuckles the animal’s head, curious. 
  * _i took care of her, but i’d just assumed -_ he pauses, tries again.  _she’s a stray_ , rook says softly.
  * preston bounces the basket once, enough that the kitten’s little ears pop out. when she recognizes rook, she starts purring. _apparently she has other plans,_ he corrects gently.



**vii.**

  * earlier, but not much, and maccready is too keyed up to sit in the empty space next to rook anymore, though they’ve relocated now. the sun is up, and rook can feel it on his face with the light chill on the air, though he’s far from relaxed. he cuts his eyes once again to daisy’s shop, even though he knows she won’t be at the counter - she’d had a different job to do today, one that’s causing maccready (a man without particularly substantial fingernails or teeth) to make a valiant effort at biting his nails.
  * _hey_ , rook says, and maccready turns to face him where he’s deliberately staying seated on the bench, trying to be calm enough for them both. rook holds out his hand, so maccready rests his own in rook’s palm, the flats of his fingers slightly damp. rook can feel him shaking and they’re both exhausted from their nightlong vigil. he gives his hand a squeeze, slow and sure, and maccready’s next breath is slightly less clipped.
  * maccready doesn’t say anything else. they’re both out of words they haven’t said a hundred times, ( _what if he doesn’t remember me, what if he’s mad at me, what if i did it all wrong again, what if, what if_ and of course rook has no idea, can only comfort) and, anyway -
  * daisy is wise to not bring the boy through the front gate, none of this a public spectacle. rook stumbles to stand and he sees on maccready’s face when he hears them talking, he recognizes daisy’s friendly rasp but the smaller voice could only be - and maccready rounds toward it like a dog to a whistle, halts, edges closer.
  * the voices don’t stop coming closer and all of a sudden rook feels like it’s all happening too fast, that after so much tense silence the sudden noise will give him a heart attack, but more importantly -
  * maccready walks forward until he can’t anymore, and rook sees him drop to his knees just in time,
  * _duncan?_
  * and he can’t see anything except for daisy and maccready’s back, just a fluffy head of dark brown hair over one of maccready’s - rj’s - shoulders. he steps closer but not too close, not wanting to hover.
  * neither of them move for a good while, the space of a few of rook’s full breaths, and when they separate rook sees the briefest flash of the child himself - darker all over than rj, layered in coats against the cold with the too-long sleeves tied at his wrists - before he hears, _dad?_  and has to look away, afraid to intrude, his heart warming him from the inside out.
  * he feels daisy come up beside him more than he sees her. _they deserved this_ , she says ( _it’s only what you deserved_ , rook thinks, then forces it away with effort). she sounds like she’s getting a bit misty-eyed, though rook actually can’t be sure that’s something she can still do.
  * _yeah_ , he agrees, not realizing how choked up he’d been until he’d tried to get a word out of his throat. he swallows.
  * daisy demurs, but doesn’t leave. _you’ve done something incredible here_ , she insists quietly. rook starts.
  * _this? this was all him, daisy_. he’s proud of that, prouder still when he hears duncan laugh for the first time, as though rj’s feelings are radiating out from him and catching at rook, as though they’re ever not. rook sees daisy’s hands fold in front of her, can see the tension in her wrists.
  * _not just this,_  she says. _not just for him_. rook goes quiet, distracted by the happy timbre of rj’s voice, how easy it sounds, how healthy duncan looks, standing straight and tall. _we wanted to keep him safe_ , she continues _, but we worried for him, all of us. a heart that soft in a gunner scope?_   _we knew there was only so much we could do, that it was only a matter of time_.
  * _you all protected him?_ rook asks. he’d always known that maccready’s relationship to goodneighbor was special, but he’d always been just as foggy about how the place felt about him back. the mutuality is comforting, somehow.
  * _we tried_ , daisy stresses. _we wanted to. but you know what it’s like out there_. she pauses. _in here_. rook knows. _and then you_.
  * rook doesn’t know what to say.
  * ( _i’ll never forget what you’ve done for me_ , maccready tells him one night, earnest and true as is becoming his habit,  _you saved me. from - myself._ )
  * he has a thought, opens his mouth on it, but rj says, _hey, rook?_  and it’s gone, just like that. daisy lets him go. he approaches cautiously, but the look rj gives him is all pride, his eyes wet with unshed tears. _duncan, i want you to meet someone_.
  * rook crouches down and duncan turns to him, what could only be his mother’s eyes squinted with his father’s smile. rook doesn’t even have to try to smile back at him, happier to see him here in front of him than his body can catch up with all at once. he holds out his hand, and duncan reaches for it eagerly.
  * _it’s so good to meet you_ , he says, though his throat threatens to close on him again and make him go quiet. he shakes duncan’s hand once, up and down, and squeezes it. he tries to say something else - something about how he’s heard stories, about what a good champion rj has been for him for so long, but he can’t find the words. one look at the kid and rook figures he probably knows, anyway.
  * _i’m_  and rook glances rj’s way here, but despite the smile playing at his lips, he looks carefully neutral, _a friend_ , he hedges, and hears rj’s wet chuckle, his murmured, _my hero_.



**viii.**

  * shaky as maccready’s relationship to synths had been at the start, his behavior at bunker hill speaks to growth, sympathy. hard not to pick some of it up when you’re working for the railroad the way rook does, certainly. of course living with one - calling one his _child_  - could very well be too much. rook admits this, gives him the out even though they’ve been together for months at this point if not a year, which is how maccready knows he has to do it.
  * he does his best to not make things awkward with shaun, and rook is unobtrusive, isn’t the type to watch over the two of them like a hawk on a good day. but the truth is, there’s so much he doesn’t know, so many questions he has - and the idea that shaun could probably answer them is more disconcerting than not.
  * he gets caught in the weeds here, about this ten-year-old boy with rook’s eyes who almost certainly knows more about technology than rook and maccready put together, the way he moves just a bit too smooth for a kid.
  * what finally puts his mind at ease is, the two of them at home alone (rook and duncan out, probably working on their ongoing project of redirecting the hot water from the mayor’s office to the pipes going into their house - _you can take the boy out of the game_ , rook laughs, _but_ ) and it’s quiet, as it always is when it’s only the two of them, both of their louder counterparts missing.
  * maccready tries valiantly not to look uncomfortable joining shaun on the couch, where he’s sitting on his hands, watching his feet kick - and manages, although when he tries to ask what’s wrong the words stick in his throat. he’d brought his book over with him, but now feels awkward opening it.
  * _um_ , shaun says, and maccready tries not to be too jumpy, too excited for the chance to reassure him about - something. _i’m sorry_.
  * maccready balks. _you’re sorry? why?_ and shaun pouts, an expression that maccready swears he recognizes under the neat blonde hair - but - it couldn’t be, but the synth had been created based on - but - (and rook hasn’t even told him about _reprogrammed_ , not yet)
  * _i know it’s… strange_ , shaun says, the voice of a child with the world on his shoulders - and this, here, is where maccready begins to understand. _i’m sorry if i’m making this harder for you_.
  * (“ _you have to carry the fire.” “i don’t know how to. where is it? i don’t know where it is!” “yes you do. it’s inside you. it always was there, i can see it.”_ )
  * and maccready is shocked, not just by this consideration (insecurity, childish but not unlike some of his own, language mature, short legs still kicking where they hang off the side of the couch, too short to touch the ground) but because somehow, despite himself, he thinks he understands this kid. the stranger, the boy never quite like anyone else he grew up around, if he grew up at all, the boy ripped from his home and now observant, cautious.
  * (“ _the boy just sat there with his head down, sobbing.  
‘you’re not the one who has to worry about everything.’ the boy said something but he couldn’t understand him - ‘what?’  
he looked up, his wet and grimy face. ‘yes i am,’ he said, ‘i am the one.’”_ )
  * _no_ , maccready says, firmly. shaun’s feet stop kicking, and maccready worries that he’s scared him, so he faces him and does his best to get across that he isn’t mad. _no_ , he says, more softly. _never. never apologize for that_. _you don’t ever have to worry about that. okay?_



**ix.**

  * maccready’s writing desk is on the second floor. it sees a lot of use both for its intended purpose and, as happens with most desks, as a sort of junk table for just about everything else. 
  * it was bound to happen sooner or later, handwritten letters can easily get lost in the shuffle.
  * _you lost your son. now i know it’s only what you deserved_ , maccready reads. he crumples the letter up in his hand, only realizing he’s done it when he unclenches his fist and gets a cramp for his trouble.
  * he finds rook downstairs on the couch, the cat in his lap - maccready stares down the grey tabby until she vacates it, and then he stubbornly takes her place. rook strokes down the side of his arm, amused, and it just makes maccready ache even more for how long he must’ve been carrying that note alone, letting it gnaw at him.
  * it occurs to him all at once that he hasn’t thought this through, and has no idea how to start. he licks his lips. _are you happy? right now?_
  * rook laughs. _are you reading philosophy again? do you want me to answer honestly, or should i -_
  * maccready takes his face between his hands, persistent. _you deserve to be happy_ , he says, and feels rook’s skin heat up under his hands. _are you?_
  * _i_ , rook says, clearly struggling to not avert his eyes, _yeah. of course, rj, i’ve never - ha, i’ve never been happier. i swear it, i hope you can believe that. what’s this about?_
  * and maccready does believe him, even, but it’s not enough, the words are wrong, something in him is beating on the inside of his chest to get out.
  * _you deserve the best of everything_ , maccready says, _and - and fuck anyone who tries to tell you different_.
  * rook goes very quiet.
  * maccready’s thumbs rub rook’s cheekbones, just a little, skin to beard and back. _can you believe that if i say it?_
  * rook looks crushed. _i don’t know_ , he admits, clearly disappointed with himself, but it’s not “no,” so maccready leans in and kisses him.



**x.**

  * much later, the four of them travel four-hundred miles to visit the capital wasteland. it’s a long trip, but they’re in no rush. they take their time, hancock babysits their cat.
  * the memorial is a rifle in the ground - the one she carried - and a scrap of her scarf tied on, stuck in place after so long.
  * maccready approaches it first.
  * _i wouldn’t want her getting cold_ , rook explains later, after he ties nora’s green scarf around the rifle as well, a respectful distance from hers. he swallows, always afraid of overstepping. _she’s given me so much, but this is all i could think of to give back. it - it’s the highest honor i have._
  * maccready understands. he looks at it for a long time, the rifle, the two scarves in the gentle breeze. he startles when rook speaks up, a quiet, _thank you_  - but when he looks over, rook is looking at it too.
  * there are others to catch up with, other introductions to make, maccready’s old homestead full of life that rook is humbled to see. people know him, here, have been watching over duncan, have been wondering where maccready went, how he’d been. the sullen gun for hire in goodneighbor seems a world away.
  * rook gets a new scarf - it has stripes, this time. he thinks nora would’ve liked it, too.
  * they go back home.



 

**Author's Note:**

> the quote from part **i**  is from richard siken’s _you are jeff_. the quotes from part **viii**  are from cormac mccarthy’s _the road_ , which i definitely think maccready has read. (possibly more than once.) obvious quotes from the game are obvious, probably. sorry for all the yammery prose!!! ilu guys and if you managed to make it all the way through this strange mess, i commend you. ♥


End file.
